We've Decided to Risk Expulsion.

 

She has been advised to remain indoors since the man, for whom no excuse is too brash, was seen to be concealing a small brown tuckle beneath his tunic. Under his breath there was a stale reminder of yesterday's contretemps. This was when she lost her balance, and a lot more besides. I have sat with her more than once and was forever surprised by the naturalness of her approach. She made it a practice to manifest nightly and I would silently observe, with her express written permission, from the branches of a tree directly on the center line. This was when I first became aware that the man was not to be dissuaded. If anything, it was all we could do to provoke an enraged denial and then reinstate the pretense that our meeting had been forced upon us, as nothing of this sort could ever see the end of darkness as we know it.

I am now being told that my loyalty is in question. Certain parties have interpreted some of my vocal inflections to mean that my intention to persevere is up for renewal in a very obscure locale where blasts are registered without either warning or delay. As to the latter, it has been widely noted that even the most feeble anticipation can lead to a maladaptive fit of situation to insuperable palaver. She has been told more than once that if the man refuses to seek help, then it is her decision to opt for a quick and painless disposal. A trusted partner without a valid visitor's code could scarcely do better than to lurk with the others when randomized research studies commence in earnest. On the other hand, what gives anyone in that position the right to invade unverifiable bandshells even if all the clues have been laid out in such a way that not even an unlettered herbalist could have the slightest expectation of meeting an unhinged donor before all the specs are finalized?

No one should be under any impression that there even IS a case to be rested in the first place. Secondly, if either she, or the man who so troubles her are required under Federal guidelines to, in essence, destroy a mediation process already in progress, then I will be forced to inform my children that their dear old Dad is destined for the 'junkheap' of history. Because, in this line of work, if you fail to hold the line and ring a smallish forested area with Notifications of Intent, then you should well nigh consider where you might like to hide in the event of a major inconvenience. Just last night I was walking my niece home from work and, as we passed a major area, she turned to me and asked, 'Is there something you need to tell me?'. I thought about it for a few seconds and replied to her question with one of my own. I said, 'What are you getting at?' All at once everything became preternaturally quiet. So quiet you could hear a hat drop in a lushly carpeted room miles from nowhere. And, you know what? I've never felt so humiliated in my life.

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